


symptoms of the culture

by ohcinnamon



Series: the "financial aid marriage" AU [1]
Category: Smosh
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, aka: two broke college boys get married for financial aid, that's how it be sometimes!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 08:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14973632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohcinnamon/pseuds/ohcinnamon
Summary: Can you marry me?This, actually, is not the weirdest text Damien has ever gotten from Shayne.or: the one where damien and shayne learn you can get more financial aid if you're married, and decide that they need to tie the knot — platonically, of course.





	symptoms of the culture

**Author's Note:**

> based off of **[this tumblr post](http://marzipanandminutiae.tumblr.com/post/159662719807/a-imagine-your-otp-b-dear-gods-this-country-has)**.
> 
> (title from "sit next to me" by foster the people)

_Can you marry me?_

This, actually, is not the weirdest text Damien has ever gotten from Shayne. (The weirdest one being “ _bring home cleaning supplies and bleach, no questions asked, PLEASE"_  — he’d thrown up in the middle of their living room floor after nearly eating himself to death while drunk.) They’ve been best friends for too long for anything to scare him away. Of all the people in the world who might be fazed by that text message, Damien is not one of them.

He is, however, in the middle of stocking the store at his job right now, and his manager will kill him if he sees him looking at his phone on the salesfloor, so he shoves his phone back into his pocket, and promptly forgets about the text until the end of his shift. A marriage crisis can wait an hour or two until he gets off work.

When he gets to his car and turns his phone back on, two unread messages from Shayne remind him of what’s going on. The first one is the notification he’d gotten earlier — _Can you marry me?_ — and the second reads, _I just got back from my meeting with the financial aid counselors, and they said they can’t give me any financial aid except for unsubsidized loans unless I have a child, get married, or turn 24, so I have to get married._

And maybe it’s just the exhaustion talking, but honestly? Damien’s fucking tired of working a shitty retail job to barely scrape by with enough money to live on — not to mention he’s still practically drowning in debt. Maybe it’s just a symptom of the culture, but he’d rather be married for a few years than have tens of thousands of dollars of debt he won’t be able to pay off. Marrying Shayne for the benefits wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. It’s just a title — it’s not like they actually have to be romantically involved.

So he texts back, _yeah, okay, I’ll marry you. I need a better FAFSA application too._

He’s not expecting Shayne to reply right away, but then again, this is a serious matter. They may be getting married, after all. Does this count as Shayne proposing to him? He texts Damien four times in a row, in rapid succession. _Wait seriously? Would you really do it? I’m doing actual research on this. Are we doing this?_

And, because he’s dead serious, Damien simply says, _count me in._

At that point, Shayne calls him, because it seems like getting married should not be a conversation they have over text. “It would have to be, like, lightning fast, because my next semester happens pretty damn soon,” he says.

“I don’t know how fast this happens. Let me check.” Damien’s puts Shayne on speaker and pulls up Google, locking his car doors while he’s at it. Something tells him he’ll be sitting in this parking lot for a while. “Ugh, okay. So we’d need a marriage license — which can be from forty to a hundred dollars depending on where we get it — and _then_ we need to file for a marriage certificate. I’m an ordained minister, but I don’t know if I could file my own marriage certificate.”

“Maybe we could get one of our friends to get ordained and do it?” Shayne suggests. “Noah would probably do it, or Boze, or Courtney. Ooh, can we go to Wisconsin after we get married?”

“What?” Damien asks, but he decides to roll with it. This whole thing is unusual enough to begin with; he can ask questions about Wisconsin later. “Never mind, let me check.”

“Dude, I’m so excited,” Shayne says, and Damien can hear the smile in his voice. “Apparently, it’s possible that I can get FAFSA to pay for an entire apartment for me to go to school in Milwaukee.”

“Dude, _what_?!” Damien exclaims, because, hey — he loves California as much as the next guy, but he’d totally be willing to get hitched to Shayne and move out to Wisconsin if it meant _free school and a free apartment_. “Okay, if I wasn’t in before, I’m definitely in now.”

“Wait, I just thought of something. What about when school is over?” Shayne asks, clear uncertainty in his tone. “What then?”

“What, are you getting cold feet?” Damien jokes. “We can just get a divorce then, plain and simple. No big deal. It’s not like we have to stay married forever. I’ll look up divorce stuff.”

“Way ahead of you,” Shayne answers. “I’ve heard that if one partner commits adultery, that’s grounds for a quicker divorce.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Damien confirms, scrolling through the Wikihow he’s found on the subject. “This sample form I’m looking at says ‘irreparable breakdown’ of marriage. Worst comes to worst, we can stage a fight, but I think we can just say it’s not working out.”

“Okay, wait, apparently divorce can be expensive,” Shayne says, and Damien can tell he’s reading from his phone. “Apparently the cost can sometimes range from $15,000 to $30,000, most of the money being split on legal fees.”

“That’s only if we get a lawyer,” Damien reminds him. “We don’t have kids. We don’t have property to divide up. We don’t have alimony to negotiate.”

“Oh, fuck a lawyer then,” Shayne reasons. “We don’t need shit.”

“Exactly,” Damien says, the beginnings of a smile curling up the ends of his lips. “We’re just two guys bein’ dudes. Getting a divorce.”

“You’re right. We can do this,” Shayne agrees, sounding slightly more confident in his decision, and Damien knows he’s in this for real now. “Oh, also, can you bring some food home? I’m starving.”

Damien turns on the car, shifting out of park. “Yeah, what do you want? Oh, I think this new place opened up, actually, let me see if they’re still open…”

It’s as simple as that.

 

* * *

 

 

Okay, it’s not _that_ simple, but agreeing to get married had been the easy part.

They’d both done the research, and decided to stick the their guns regarding that phone call, so now they’re here; finally getting married. The past few weeks have been a mess of explaining to family and friends what’s going on — some of them disapprove, some of them are totally down for it, and some of them are just downright confused — and getting their documents together.

Damien runs his fingers through his hair for the millionth time, squinting to see his reflection in his phone’s front camera in the bright sunlight. He’d already spent way too long trying to get ready in the bathroom; he should be ready to go by now, but the anxiety is setting in pretty heavily. This hadn’t been nerve-racking when it was just paperwork, but now he’s about to (figuratively) walk down the aisle, and it’s becoming more and more evident that this is something he can’t just walk away from. Not that he _wants_ to walk away from it — he’d never leave Shayne hanging like that, but who can blame him if his nerves are through the roof? He's making a semi-permanent decision at the ripe old age of  _nineteen._

“You okay, man?” Shayne approaching breaks him out of his train of thought, and he shoves his phone into his back pocket.

“I’m kind of freaking out. Does my hair look okay?” He’d actually gotten a little bit dressed up for the occasion; a nice white button-down, a black and blue striped tie, his nicest pair of dress shoes. It’s mostly for himself, because he feels like it would be _wrong_ not to. Thankfully, Shayne seems to feel the same way, because he’s cleaned up, too. If Damien tries hard enough, he can pretend that they’re just going to prom or something...but then again, he’d always gotten deathly nervous before prom, too.

“Your hair looks good.  _You_ look good,” Shayne says, his voice low and soothing, and he gingerly runs a hand down Damien’s arm. He gently closes his fingers around his wrist, forcing Damien to look up, and he’s met with a small smile. “Stop worrying. There’s, like, three people besides me who are going to see you today, and they’re all our friends.”

Their “wedding day,” so to speak, is small and casual for the most part. Noah’s there to officiate, and they’ve called Courtney and Boze to be their witnesses. All the paperwork is ready to go; all that’s left to do is the actual wedding part — which they’re doing in Courtney’s backyard, because they want this to be as lowkey as possible, and neither of them really felt like being married in a church.

“I know,” Damien sighs, biting the inside of his cheek. “I’m just nervous. I know I shouldn’t be, but I am. We’re actually doing this.”

“Would it help if I said I was nervous too?” Shayne asks, shifting their hands so that their fingers twine. “Because I am. I think it’s just natural. Anyone who _isn’t_ nervous on their wedding day is probably a psychopath.”

“Wedding day,” Damien echoes, his eyes glossing over with anxiety, and Shayne squeezes his palm to snap him out of it.

“We’re gonna be fine, okay?” Shayne says, keeping a tight grip on his hand to hold his attention. “Look at me. Everything is gonna be fine. Soon we won’t be drowning in debt, and it’s gonna be _great_. We'll be able to buy hella video games, and get sushi whenever we want to. Try not to worry. I’ve got you. I promise.”

"Okay," Damien agrees, returning the gentle squeeze. "I trust you."

“Hey, are you guys gonna keep holding hands in the garden, or are we gonna get this show on the road?” Courtney calls, and Damien doesn’t even have to look at her to know she’s smirking at them.

“Just a second!” Shayne yells back, reaching into his pocket. “I have to do something first.”

Damien’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean, you have to do something?”

“I got us rings,” Shayne says, pulling out a little black box from his pocket. “...surprise?”

Damien’s heart actually stops in his chest, his eyes widening in surprise. “Please tell me you didn’t actually spend good money on those.”

Shayne gives him a lopsided smile and opens the box. “I mean, if you call fifty bucks spent at a low-end pawn shop _good money,_  then I’m sorry to get you all riled up.”

The rings are very plain; matching silver bands, slightly tarnished, but they’re still nice enough to wear. Damien reaches in to take his and put it on, but Shayne slaps his hand away from the box before he can grab it.

“Come on, let me have _some_ fun with this wedding before I’m shackled to you for life.” Shayne grins, taking one of the rings out and snapping the box closed. “Give me your hand. I wanna do this formally.”

Damien does as he says, and as Shayne slips the ring onto his finger, he finds himself a little bit breathless. Sure, it’s not his _real_ wedding, but this still feels so monumental in some sort of way. “You’re not shackled to me for life, just for the next three years, at least,” Damien reminds him, but part of him is choking on the words.

“Your turn,” Shayne says, handing him the box. “Humor your _fiancé_.”

 _Fiancé_ , Damien thinks, and his stomach does cartwheels at that. He takes the other ring out of the box and turns it over in his palm, his hands beginning to go numb. This is…this is something else. Shayne holds out his hand, and Damien takes it gently, doing his best to keeps his own hands from shaking as he slides the ring on. “There. Any more surprises?”

Shayne shakes his head. “Nope. I’m good to go if you are.”

Damien swallows his pride, still staring at the ring on his finger. They’re really going to do this. It’s now or never. “Let’s do this thing.”

“Come stand...under this tree, I guess?” Noah suggests, waving them over. “Courtney, Boze, you get over here too; you’re the witnesses. Come and...witness.”

“Aye aye, captain,” Courtney says, reporting to her position dutifully (and with an unusual amount of excitement). Boze is right behind her, bounding up with the same frightening amount of energy. “Noah, marry these idiots.”

“Here, take my hands,” Shayne says, reaching out for Damien. “Just...hold onto me. We’ll both be less nervous that way.”

“Oh, good, I was going to ask you to take each others’ hands anyway,” Noah says, pulling a folded up piece of paper out of his pocket and clearing his throat. “Okay, uh...we are here today to celebrate the relationship of Damien and Shayne, best bros so close they’re willing to get married so that the other one doesn’t have to suffer financially.”

“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Boze remarks, sighing dramatically. “So sweet I might puke.”

“Did either of you write vows?” Noah asks, looking back and forth between them. “I mean, that’s the next thing it says to do on the Wikihow I looked up.”

“Uh...I was planning on winging it?” Shayne says, laughing nervously. “Damien, I vow to always do the dishes the first time you ask me, and not make you yell at me about it. I also vow to laugh at your terrible puns, no matter how stupid they are, or how many times I’ve heard them.”

Damien shifts anxiously, trying to come up with something on the spot. If Shayne’s being casual about it, that means he can be casual too, right? “Okay, uh, Shayne? I vow to listen to your Patrick Warburton impression whenever you want to do it. And also to always beat your ass at Mario Party.”

Shayne scrunches up his nose in disapproval, and the tension breaks. “What kind of vow is _I vow to always beat your ass at Mario Party_ , dickhead?”

Damien grins, despite the nerves flaring in his stomach. “Our kind, asshole. It’s a vow, isn’t it?”

“Christ, it’s like you’re already married,” Boze mumbles, and Damien lets out an awkward chuckle, feeling his face begin to heat up. _Well, that’s probably good, considering we have to be married for at least the next three years._

“Did you gu— oh, sweet, you already did your rings. Never mind, then,” Noah says, flipping his piece of paper over. “Okay, you guys already know this part; just say ‘I do’ when I get to it. Shayne, do you take Damien to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”

“Uh, sure,” Shayne says, trying to comprehend what Noah just read off. “I mean, yes, I do. I do.”

“Nice.” Noah turns to Damien, and everything suddenly becomes a lot more real. “Okay, Damien, do you promise to do all of that shit for Shayne? I don’t feel like rereading all of that.”

“I do,” Damien says, his tone more serious than even he himself had expected.

“Then, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you two married. You may now kiss your...uh, husband?” Noah says, shrugging. “I mean, or don’t, if you don’t want to. It’s not like it’ll make a difference.”

“What, you’re not gonna kiss?” Courtney hollers, a smirk on her face, and Damien’s cheeks flush even more. “What kinda wedding is this?”

“Hey, how about...shut up?” Shayne responds, also blushing just the slightest, and Damien squeezes his hands to get him to look back at him.

“Oh, just kiss me, or they won’t leave us alone,” he says, exasperated. Kissing Shayne for, like, two seconds is the least of his worries right now.

Shayne shrugs, a small smile on his face. “All right, but you asked for this.”

Shayne leans in, and Damien’s surprised to find that he isn’t holding back. It's not the quick peck he'd been expecting, not by a long shot. He drops one of Damien’s hands in favor of sliding his fingers into the hair at the back of his head, pulling him closer — so, yeah, Damien nearly passes out in surprise. He’s vaguely aware of Courtney and Boze cheering in the background, and Noah laughing under his breath, but that’s nothing compared to the rapid thump of his heartbeat. It feels real, not staged for their friends, and something inside Damien maybe melts a little bit, something that he hadn’t expected to feel.

Shayne’s a good kisser — that’s something he doesn’t get to say every day.

“You’re a good kisser,” Damien tells Shayne after they’ve pulled back, out loud, to his face, because he’s maybe still a bit nervous and prone to rambling and/or saying the first stupid thing that pops into his head.

Shayne cracks a smile, squeezes his hand, and the feeling of metal rubbing against Damien’s fingers makes this much more real, all of the sudden. That’s his _husband_ standing in front of him. He might throw up from the whirlwind of emotions he’s experiencing, but he’ll try not to, for the sake of keeping up appearances. What kind of husband would he be if he threw up at the altar? “Thanks, man. You’re not half bad, either.”

“ _Group hug!_ ” Boze exclaims, and suddenly there’s three other pairs of arms around him and Shayne, laughing and carrying on, but Damien’s too preoccupied to make out what any of them are saying. Shayne’s still holding onto his hand, their fingers laced together, and everything seems to move in slow motion around them. There’s a smile on his face, a gracious, happy light in his eyes, and suddenly none of the complications matter. They’ll get through this, just like they’ve gotten through everything before — together.

And just like that, Damien knows he’s in way over his head.

**Author's Note:**

> (...you all can definitely expect a sequel to this at some point. wink wink.)


End file.
